


Teach Me What I Know

by sahrmael



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comfort, Episode Prompto, Friendship, Gen, aranea is a good friend, from my ff.net, prompto has identity issues and feels sorry for himself, prompto is an actual puppy, protect prompto forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27288838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahrmael/pseuds/sahrmael
Relationships: Prompto Argentum & Aranea Highwind
Kudos: 4





	Teach Me What I Know

_"You fool,"_ she murmurs, and the hint of a bemused smile lingers on the tail end of her words. With what little time they've spent in one another's company, she's grown fond of him; wouldn't have come to his aid if that weren't the case.

He's just a bit too glum to appreciate that now.

Prompto sits far too close to the fire, hunched over and curled in on himself, feeling the heat as it burns harshly against his wind-chapped cheeks. The inside of his bottom lip is clenched between teeth, and he works to frown, furrowing blond brows in disbelief.

There has ever been a part of him that _knows_ he does not belong to the Crownsguard. Within their ranks, he is small and timid, ill-prepared for the magnitude of the task at hand, and he fears that it shows more prominently now than ever.

He plays the joker, camera and lenses in hand, knowing too well that there is no comparison between himself and the others with whom he travels. _Travelled_. They were _born_ to fight the Empire, whereas he merely stumbled into the fray by chance, a jester among soldiers and kings.

He's not made for this. _Any of this_. He doesn't belong with them.

"You're a smart guy." The smile is gone, but Aranea's flattering him now, trying to draw his attention away from the obvious darkness of his thoughts. The _truth_ of his thoughts. "You know as well as I do, Prompto, that those guys – _your friends_ – wouldn't waste time on a nobody."

The mercenary sighs when he remains silent, her breath manifesting as momentarily visible particles in the frigid air before...

_That's right. Gone._

Prompto doesn't budge, holding his breath until it feels as though he may burst. He is every bit like the heat on their tongues in the dark and cold: Intangible. Impermanent. Then forgotten.

 _That_ is why Noctis pushed him off the train, he laments, staring fixedly into the flames. The prince had surely grown tired of towing him along, and found satisfactory opportunity to relieve himself of unnecessary weight.

_"You think I'd make time for just any old loser?"_

Those eyes stare back at him from within the fire and, for a moment, Prompto can feel the other man's hand tightly clasped about his shoulder. His head turns slowly, almost expecting to see Noctis at his side, reassuring him with that soft smile.

It's Aranea who sits beside him in the snow, arm lazily draped over his shoulders, pulling him into a half-hearted embrace.

Prompto can't quite place it, her scent, but it reminds him of sunny days and crisp warm grass carried far on the wind.

A shroud blocks the campfire from view for a moment, a heavy wool blanket covering the pair of them as Aranea pulls the hat from atop his head, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"You're not _disposable_ , Prompto," she says, but doesn't look at him. "You can _never_ let yourself believe that you are."

Is she preaching to him or to herself? He's not so certain what with the way she stares straight ahead. It doesn't matter, the gunman thinks, and relaxes just enough to settle his head on her lap.

Aranea has seen more of the world than he has, and has had more time to figure herself out. Even knowing all of that, having earned her wings and her choices, still she wastes time on him, sitting in the snow, drying the tears that he will not shed.

"Yeah, maybe," he finally says, tucking his nose up under the blanket, eyes beginning to close. "Maybe you've got a point there..."


End file.
